


The Hogfather

by Heather



Category: Angel - Fandom
Genre: Comment Fic, Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-28
Updated: 2009-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:57:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather/pseuds/Heather





	The Hogfather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaos_by_design](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=chaos_by_design).



There was no blood.

When Connor thinks about the night he sunk Angelus into the sea, that's all he ever remembers. The flesh stung and burned and stank (like meat; like a monster) when he put the taser to Angelus' chest, but when he put him in the coffin, he was perfectly pristine. Not a burn scar, not a drop of blood spilt. As if there had been no wound at all.

There should have been blood.

It's not right, it's not natural (not _human_) to heal like that.

The first thing Connor remembers (_Steven remembers_) is his own unbroken skin. His first hunt alone, his first unsupervised kill. He had been so _proud_ of himself then- he was seven, practically a man, he should've fought before that, but his father wouldn't let him.

He remembers running home, dragging the corpse behind him through the dirt, and presenting it to his father.

_Daddy, Daddy, do you see what I did?_

He remembers the look on his father's face, and how quickly it went wrong. No pride there, no approval. No love.

_"You say you fought this yourself."_

_"Yes." He kept the vanity out of his voice now. Ducked his head and looked down._

_"You know it is a sin to lie." His father used the patient voice, the one Steven knew meant he was in trouble. _

_"Yes."_

_"Then tell me, son. How is it that you are not bleeding?"_

_Steven blinked. He looked down at his arms, where the scratches should be, the teethmarks, the bruises. He had fought and it had hurt. But he had nothing to show for it but the corpse. He was_ (pristine).__

_Steven looked down at his feet. "I don't know."_

_There should have been blood._

Vampires never shed blood. Even the more brutal methods of killing them (fire, sunlight- flesh melting straight off the bone) left nothing behind. They always died _clean._ They left behind nothing but bad memories and so much dust.

His father bled. His father shed buckets of it- hot and red and wet, all over Justine's hands. It trickled its way down his skin from those neat, tidy little wounds and their deadly precision. (Justine's palms were sticky when it dried. Connor wonders if Angelus washed his hands or licked the blood clean after.)

Angelus wouldn't die so neatly, Connor promised himself. He'd know agony and filth and the choke of hot salt pouring down the back of his throat when _he_ tried to scream.

He'd die like a human.

And he'd do it forever.

Angelus had said he wished he was a man.

He could call it a gift from his son.


End file.
